


Christmas at Kamar Taj

by flyingonfeatherlesswings



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Wreath making, just pure christmas fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:30:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9073978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingonfeatherlesswings/pseuds/flyingonfeatherlesswings
Summary: So my friend wrote me some Strordo fluff for Christmas, this is her story and I hope you enjoy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was orginally titled:   
> Emma’s Strange Christmas Present;   
> Or, Lord Forgive Me, What Have I Done? Please, Don’t Laugh at Me.

Stephen had woken up to the cold, pale, and still somehow, blinding, sunlight streaming in through the intricate leaves of frost that covered his small window. It was cold outside of his little mountain of quilts and blankets, but this wasn’t anything new, the first snowfall of the season had been in mid-October. But today somehow, the cold, and the frost, and the weak winter sun felt warmer than it ever had before and gave the room a cheery glow it had never had before. Even if it picked up wifi alarmingly well, as if by magic. Stephen suspected it was because, unlike yesterday, his room smelled like the pine wreath, and the little cinnamon ornaments that were tied to it, that now hung on the door. Mordo had made it the day before and had hung it up, with a matching one in his own room. And with the wreath and its spicy, warm scent, it now felt like Christmas had come to Kamar-Taj.

Back in New York, Stephen had never been the biggest fan of Christmas. He had just really never had had the time, it wasn’t as if doctors were suddenly not needed during the holidays. And, despite all the romantic stories that would have you believe otherwise, New York didn’t Christmas well. The already bursting and impatient city became frantic in its desperation to display Peace on Earth and Good Will Toward Men, which, rather, defeated the intended effect. And all of the cars and people and bustle quickly turned any snow that fell from a shimmering winter wonderland into a depressing gray slush that looked more like the weary and miserable tail end of winter than Christmas.

Stephan hadn’t expected Kamar-Taj to be more festive than the blaring carols and giant trees of New York, it wasn’t exactly a relevant holiday for most of the monks and masters and students who lived there. But one master, to Stephen’s surprise, had turned out to be a Christmas fiend. Mordo had surprised him the day before, when Stephen had walked in on his mentor looping great branches of pine into hoops. After pausing a moment, Stephen cleared his throat to catch Mordo’s attention, and ventured,

“Ah. Hey, weren’t we supposed to be training now?”

Mordo had frozen where he was, sitting on the floor, his hands invisible through the shaggy mass of needles, and his legs holding the bough in place. An undignified position that would have surprised Stephen earlier on in their acquaintance. Finally, Mordo looked up and met Stephen’s eyes, “Yes, of course, I can finish these later.”

His voice was strained, as if it was taking more effort than he wanted to show to keep the pine branch where it was, twisted into that unnatural ring, and before Mordo could release his captive tree, and before Stephen fully realised what he was doing, he was kneeling in front of Mordo, using his knees to keep the hoop steady, and all of the strength he could muster into his weak and shaking hands to continue winding the end of the branch around.

Eventually, Stephen had run out of branch, and Mordo’s hands, with broken needles clinging to them, took hold of Stephen’s own and guided them, slowly, carefully, down the sides of the wreath, to support it, while Mordo secured the ring they had made.

They never managed to get around to the sparing lesson, but had spent the afternoon assembling more wreaths. It had turned out that Mordo had gone and gathered some dozen appropriately bushy and compliant branches from the forest surrounding his home. He had also managed to acquire lengths of bright, red ribbon, sprigs of holly, and no small number of cinnamon-scented reindeer and stars,

“I love the smell of them, they remind me of Christmas back when I was a child, and we would go to the city to go to the enormous Christmas markets to stock up on sweets and nuts, and buy gifts. Then after, in the afternoon, and it would already be starting to get dark, we’d go to the forest with some of the servants to choose the best tree, and take it home, pulling it behind the sleigh.”

Mordo’s voice was soft and thoughtful, but Stephen could still hear the smile in it, as they tied the ornaments onto the wreaths. It was rare for Mordo to talk about his life before coming to Kamar-Taj, he was the complete opposite of Stephen in that regard, who was always telling him, and anyone else who would listen, about his surgical accomplishments, and what he would do when his hands got better and regained their steadiness: the only gift and talent from his life as a doctor that he hadn’t ever had to think about before the accident, and its devastating and career-ending consequences.

But Mordo was used to hearing about this,and Stephen was not used to hearing about his beloved mentor’s past. Stephen paused as something sunk in, “You had servants?”

Mordo looked up, and steadily met Stephen’s gaze, “Of course, our castle was much too big for us to care for, and my parents always had other things to do.”

“A castle?” Stephen stared at him. “You grew up in a castle? What are you?” He demanded, halfway between scoffing and intrigue, “A king?”

“No,” The smile in Mordo’s voice bubbled over into laughter. “I’m a baron. I thought you knew.”

Stephen hadn’t known. Stephen still didn’t think he understood. He supposed Europe did still have nobility, and Mordo was European, but it still seemed so bizarre.

Mordo watched Stephen being shocked into silence, an extremely rare occurrence that Mordo could only remember happening once before, when they had first started to become closer. 

After a moment, he broke the growing silence, “Do you find that strange?”

That did it. Stephen noisily exhaled, “Very funny.” He paused, then added, “Baron.”

Mordo’s grin broadened, and he subtly slid closer to Stephen, trailing a length of ribbon. Stephen’s breath caught in his throat as Mordo leaned in closer still. He smoothly took the ribbon and tied it around the wreath that lay in Stephen’s lap.

“We should finish these off. Then we can hang them around.”

They had then, giggling like children and clinging to each other in an attempt to keep their hysterical glee quiet, snuck their wreaths out during the night and hung them in the most appropriate of places, that is, on all of the doors and on a few choice bookshelves in the library. A little Christmas surprise for Wong when he returned to his post in the morning. Only the last two had they decided to hang in each other’s rooms.

Still flushed with pleasure from the misadventures of the day before, Stephen slowly edged his way out from under his many covers into the chilled room. He dressed hastily, and slid on his sling ring, and without a moment’s hesitation knew exactly where he wanted to go. Portals came easily to him now, and this one went to somewhere warm, somewhere where oranges grew. And in the same moment as when his portal spiraled open, he was through.

When he returned, with his small bundle of oranges and spice, he didn’t go back to his own room, or even to the hall, which would have been polite, instead he went to Mordo’s room. Mordo wasn’t there. It was stupid to the think he would be, of course Mordo had better things to do than sit in his room and wait for Stephen to appear. Usually, it was Stephen who would be busy reading or practicing his magic, and Mordo hunting him down, to spar, or practice spells, or something more.

Gingerly, Stephen crept out of the room, like a child nervous of being caught, and made his way to one of Mordo’s more usual haunts. It wasn’t unusual to find Mordo out in the training grounds, helping the novices develop the muscle memory needed to efficiently utilize the theory they learned. And while Stephen had become something of a special case, Mordo didn’t neglect the other novices who still greatly benefitted from his help.

And sure enough, there he was, in the corner of the courtyard, staff in hand, slowly trading blows with one of the novices, Marcus, Stephen thought his name was. Mordo’s movements were steady and precise, encouraging his student into the pattern of defense needed to block his rhythm of attack. He intently watched Marcus, looking for any break in his flow of movement, for any hesitation. From experience, Stephen knew he would find even the most momentary hint of weakness. But Mordo was also smiling, and, with each increase of speed, his smile widened, though his eyes remained fixed onto Marcus’ stance, watching carefully. This went on until their movements became so quick, so fast, that even their faces became a blur. Stephen smiled watching them, watching Mordo weave and dart in an impossible flurry of precise motion. 

From the other side of the courtyard, the Ancient One found his eyes and locked in on them. As if in a trance, Stephen looked away from Mordo and found the Ancient One’s inescapable gaze, her inescapable gaze that seemed to look into the very heart of him and knew everything he had been thinking. His face grew hot, and still she stared into him, holding him in place, until she released him to look over at Mordo, who had, somehow, ended up beside her. They exchanged a few quiet words that Stephen couldn’t hear, with her eyes warm and deep, as if she was passing on a blessing, and Mordo looking cool and unflappable, and still panting slightly from his exertion moments before. He was trying to look cool and calm, at least, like the Ancient One always did, and perhaps the others believed it, but Stephen could see the giddiness rippling beneath his calm exterior. And with far too much bounce, Mordo left the Ancient One’s side and crossed over to Stephen.

Stephen stood dumbly for a few moments while Mordo expectantly watched him, his eyes as bright as a child’s when they see the tree on Christmas morning. Stephen’s breathing was fast and shallow, his heart pounding far too quickly and loudly to be normal. His only consolation was the knowledge that Mordo’s was doing the same.

In a voice that was too fast to be nonchalantly, and after a silence that was too long to be cool, Stephen held up his purchases and said, “I thought we could—I used to, when I was a kid, make these. So, I thought—they smell great! Do you want to make some together? For Christmas?”

“Yes.” Mordo’s voice was deep and sure, and was still vibrating in Stephen’s ears when Stephen lunged for Mordo’s hand, grasped it, and pulled him off inside, while practically yelling, “Then let’s go!”

When they had finally stopped, Mordo took the bag from Stephen and looked inside. He pulled out an orange, looked at it, and while shifting its weight in his hand, he asked, “You want to make pomanders? Roll these in cinnamon and fill them all over with cloves?”

Stephen took the other oranges from the bag, along with the jar of cloves, their tapered points rustling softly inside.

“I didn’t get cinnamon, but yeah. Like I said, we should make some, they smell amazing.”

Mordo laughed, “You didn’t actually say anything that made much sense.” He put the orange down. “It was cute. It’s always when you get flustered.”

Then he was in front of Stephen, with one hand holding the line of his jaw. Standing on his toes, Mordo leaned in, and Stephen rushed forward to meet him. They kissed, and the oranges lay forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> She ended the fic with:   
> The End. I’m done.  
> Merry Christmas.  
> Goodbye forever.  
> I tried, I really did.
> 
> She was really embarassed haha.


End file.
